


Affaire de Coeur

by Originals_of_Tysolna (Tysolna)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Originals_of_Tysolna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I cultivate my friendships the way other people cultivate a rose garden: with tender, loving care, the occasional necessary pruning, forever on the look-out for parasites that would sicken or destroy the plants; and it is always a joy to me to walk among my roses and drink in their company.<br/>----<br/>This was written in 2009 for a prompt which wanted a mash-up of Bram Stoker and P.G. Wodehouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affaire de Coeur

I cultivate my friendships the way other people cultivate a rose garden: with tender, loving care, the occasional necessary pruning, forever on the look-out for parasites that would sicken or destroy the plants; and it is always a joy to me to walk among my roses and drink in their company.

Still, when Ainsworth, my faithful Butler and Factotum, woke me up to announce the unexpected and eager arrival of my friend Everett Stanford Hanleigh-Hamilton, I reflected on the fact that roses rarely ambulate, disturb one's sleep, or begin to talk excitedly about other roses before giving the gardener a chance to partake of his breakfast.

"Miss Margaret Pye," Everett sighed wistfully after he had been seated in one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace in the library with the usual glass of Sherry in his hand. "If you had only seen her, my dear Walter, you would understand me. Ah, a finer woman has ne'er walked upon this earth, nor one more beautiful! Her hair black as a raven's feather, her skin pale as the finest china, and her eyes! Oh, her eyes! Blue as the ice on a winter lake, yet on the stage, how filled with emotions!"

"Ah," I nodded sagely, "you speak of an actress, yes?"

"Indeed I do, Walter, indeed I do. Yet no mere actress could have played the part of Henrietta like Miss Pye did last night. For those two hours, she truly was Henrietta, with all her joys and pains and..."

 

Everett continued in this vein for a while, while I sat, nodding where appropriate, and harrumphed the occasional appreciative harrumph. It was eminently clear that good old Everett needed someone to talk _at_ rather than talk with, and would come to the point eventually. He was clearly smitten with this actress, and considering the youth of my friend, this was hardly surprising. I had known Everett's parents, of course, and their affinity to the stage, though it was always a spectator sport for them rather than one to participate in. Everett had clearly inherited more than his parent's fortune; and for a moment I saw in him his mother's beauty - his green eyes shining with life like hers used to - blended with his father's rugged looks, the square jawbone and brow giving him an aristocratic look I was well pleased with.

Again, I brought myself back to the problem at hand. People of the stage have, on occasion, been known to use people like Everett - to gain prestige, money, or simply the next engagement of the non-marital kind. At least it was not a dance hall girl, but still, this porcelain doll of a thespian might be a species of parasite. I resolved there and then to have Ainsworth find out as much as possible about her.

 

"... so, what do you think?" Everett looked at me, face flushed with emotion, anticipation in his eyes and an empty glass in his hand. I could hardly admit that I had lost track of his tale some time ago, so I furrowed my brow in silence while letting my mind catch up with my ears. Ah, yes. He had still been describing his idol and his plans for the immediate and far future.

"Well, my dear chap, if you really think so?" I hazarded. Everett only nodded, mutely, and seemed to hesitate. I offered him another glass of Sherry, which he gratefully accepted. While pouring, I took the initiative.

"I'm sure, Everett, that you didn't come to me merely to gush about the love of your life, though that appears to have taken the better part of an hour. Is there anything I can do for you, short of abducting the poor wench and dropping her in your house in the country?"

Everett chuckled sadly. "Oh, would that it were that easy, Walter! No, a woman like that must receive a courtship worthy of her, with all the rituals and the flowers and gifts - and the being introduced to by a friend."

Ah, so that was the role Everett Stanford Hanleigh-Hamilton had in mind for me. I was to be, as it were, the bearer of the Silver Rose, announcing that there was a suitor and carrying back the object d'amour's message. I would have the chance to meet her and determine for myself if she was indeed a star or merely an understudy.

"You seem to have it all planned out, old friend! When and how are we going to proceed with the wooing?" I sat back in my comfortable chair, resigned to skip breakfast altogether and have lunch be my first meal of the day.

Everett leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if afraid the world might overhear his plans for pursuing this suit. "Tomorrow evening, there's going to be the big do at the Thorp's place, you know. Miss Pye has been invited, and I have inveigled myself into the favours of Roderick Thorp - I let him win at Tennis today - and he has been only happy to extend an invitation to me. I have also heard from him that you are on the guest list as usual, so I would surmise that this is an excellent opportunity to let Amor do his duty. What say you?"

I hesitated only briefly so as not to give the appearance of having hoped for something like this. Old Ramzey Charles Thorp's fancy society do's were getting bigger every time, and the bigger they became, the more boring they were to me. Charley held the firm opinion that the more were the merrier, but when half of the more can't stand the sight of the other half, things tend to get rather stiff, or drunk, or both. Still, anyone who wished to be counted among London's society would have to be seen at the Thorp's place. Here was an excellent chance to turn a dreaded duty into a pleasurable game, and I agreed to Everett's plan.

Everett jumped out of his chair and, pumping my hand vigorously, thanked me over and over again in many flowery words, until I had escorted him out of the library and into Ainsworth's arms, who took the swain out into the air.

  

The next evening, fortified with trusty Ainsworth's notes about Miss Margaret Pye and dressed as the finest society's darling, complete with top hat, white tie and tails and a white rose in my lapel, I set sail for the evening's entertainment. On the way to the Thorpe's, I read the notes and was surprised that Ainsworth, usually such a thorough investigator, had been stumped on this occasion. Apparently, there was not much information on Miss Pye except for her arriving in London three months earlier from New York to visit the Old Country, proclaiming that she was looking for her family's roots. Once her travel money was spent, she took an engagement at a local theatre, where her star had risen rapidly, and where my friend Everett had seen her. I was left to mull this over the remainder of the journey, and was only brought out of my thoughts by the Thorp's Butler Jameson announcing me as I stepped into the gaily decorated hall.

 

"Walter Ingram Trey-Marley," Jameson's voice rang out, and a few heads turned in my direction, some of them smiling. I began the usual round of nods, smiles, greetings, handshakes and polite yet empty talk, working my way towards Theresa Thiensville-Thorp, whom I counted as a rose in my garden, and who I was always happy to chat with.

"Walty!" she exclaimed when she laid eyes on me. "About time you got here! Come on, have some champagne, Daddy's imported it special!"

That was what I liked about Theresa. She was as muck-common and down-to-earth as only the very rich can be, and as such was a bright light on these dark occasions. "Tessa!" I returned her greeting with a smile. "How are you this fine evening?" I accepted the glass of champagne gracefully and pretended to sip.

"Not bad, not bad at all," replied Theresa. "I've been watching the usual feuds breaking out under the surface of politeness. The Owen-Withees are really angry at the Henderson-Etoyles after young Lizzy ran away with their Justin, did you notice when you came in?"

I had, and I told her so. After some more catching-up, I wondered idly about the new faces in the crowd. "Oh, Walty, you're going to love this. Daddy has invited an actress tonight! Hang on, I think I spotted her earlier... there, look, there she is, in the blue gown. Just look at it..! So yesterday!"

 

And indeed, Miss Margaret Pye was wearing what could only be described as yesterday's fashion in midnight blue. Still, this social gaffe went largely unnoticed, for she wore the gown as if she had bought it at Harrods this afternoon. She was holding herself very upright, yet appeared relaxed. In her hands an untouched flute of champagne, she stood next to the glass doors leading out to the balcony, surveying the crowd with the look of someone faintly amused by her surroundings. Everett had not exaggerated the translucent beauty of this woman, which appeared to be tempered with wisdom far beyond her age. Yet I was never one to judge by appearances alone. This was an actress, after all.

 

I excused myself from Theresa, who went back to watching the movements of society's finest as one might watch a game of cricket, and made my way towards Miss Pye.

"I sincerely hope you find this ball only half as boring as I do," I said by way of introduction. "Walter Trey-Marley, pleased to meet you."

"Margaret Pye," she replied in a melodious voice and, holding out her hand for me to take, raised her blue eyes to meet mine. And there I felt it, in her touch, and in her gaze, a kinship that would not, could not be denied, a kinship that was forged by blood, at the deepest levels of existence. I smiled, knowing that she had felt it as well.

"I'm curious," I said. "What brings you from New York to London?"

She let go of my hand but returned my smile. "I had been in the States for quite some time, and people were beginning to wonder. It was time to move on. Also, I had not been to Europe for decades, and I thought it might be interesting to revisit old hunting grounds. I did not realize that there were others here."

"Most have actually moved to the United States, or to the Continent," I replied. "I remain here... To be quite honest, I am rather fond of the English, and the games they play."

 

We stood side by side in companionship, surveying the ebb and flow of human society, idly chatting about history shared, when I spotted my friend Everett Stanford Hanleigh-Hamilton come into the hall, and an idea sprang into my mind fully blossomed.

"My dear Miss Pye," I said, turning towards her and noting that her reflection was missing from the glass door behind us the same as mine was, "would you accept a gift from me on the occasion of our meeting, in the hope that many more of these meetings may follow?" The tilt of her head spoke volumes, as did her answering smile, this time showing the pearly glint of her ever-so-slightly pointed eye teeth.

 

 I cultivate my friendships the way other people would cultivate a rose garden, and roses have their uses. My friend Everett had been right. A woman such as Miss Margaret Pye must receive a courtship worthy of her, with all that this entails. And sometimes, one will pick a pleasing rose in its prime and offer it to a worthy woman.


End file.
